


Schrödinger's Hook-Up (Let's Do It Again Anyway)

by bloodsongs



Series: Schrödinger's Hook-Up [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humour, Intoxication, M/M, Office Almost-Porno, Questionable One Night Stands™, Unresolved Sexual Tension, in which Merlin can't handle his bubbly, so much of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:03:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsongs/pseuds/bloodsongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has too much bubbly during his company dinner, and the office is abuzz with rumours of him and Arthur —his gorgeous if infuriatingly stubborn head of department he's a PA for— come sobriety and Monday morning.</p><p>They might or might not have done the deed that night, but one thing's for sure: Merlin can't remember a damned thing, and is arguably more incensed about that rather than the fact that the gossip mill is having a fun round with him as the chosen topic. </p><p>And then there's what may or may not be post-sex coffee, whatever the hell that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schrödinger's Hook-Up (Let's Do It Again Anyway)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andiwould](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andiwould/gifts).



> For the brilliant KMM prompt [here!](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/35114.html?thread=37264426#t37264426)

“So, is it true?” Gwen asks gleefully, sliding down into a chair opposite Merlin at their usual café for lunch, putting three whole spoonfuls of sugar into her latté.

Merlin groans at both the over-sweetening of her coffee and her words, drawing back and avoiding her eyes as he digs into his bowl of pasta salad. “What is?” 

He’s actually very much aware of what she’s referring to, given how he’d been faced with at least fifty variants of that dreaded question since he’d arrived in the office this morning. Merlin hadn’t even been aware at that point how people could phrase ‘so, the two of you, eh?’ in so many different ways while using so many different lewd gestures. He’s a little traumatised, to be honest.

Of course, Gwen knows him too well. She leans over and swats at his arm. “Don’t act all clueless with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Gwen,” Merlin whines, giving in, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands. “I”m going to give you the exact same answer I gave every single ‘well-meaning’ busybody who stopped by my cubicle or leered at me in the corridor: I don’t know!”

“How can you not?” She says incredulously, tucking one of her many wayward dark curls behind her ear. “Everyone else said they saw you and Arthur getting cozy near the balcony that night. Surely something must’ve happened.”

Merlin glances around suspiciously for a few seconds before he lowers his voice, feeling like they’re in a really bad spy film. “They obviously need to get their glasses checked or something if they think his bullying me and calling me the worst PA he’s ever had as he’s wont to do is their idea of getting cozy.”

“You and Arthur are dysfunctional, I swear. You insult each other and get all up in each other’s space when you’re arguing all the time! You guys aren’t even doing flirting right. Every time he storms out of his office and you guys have a row, we hold our breath and wait for you two to angrily snog each other.” Gwen sips her terrifyingly sweet coffee, raising an eyebrow.

“Stop living vicariously through my non-existent sexual tension with my arrogant, gorgeous ass of a boss, Gwen,” Merlin mumbles through his mouthful of olives and rocket leaves.

“It’s not non-existent if it’s actually happening!” Rolling her eyes, Gwen sets her coffee down and folds her arms, looking sternly at Merlin. “I know _you_ think he’s fit, but the rest of us in Marketing have eyes. You’re oblivious as anything, but our head of department is arse-over-tits for you, too, Merlin. He never takes his eyes off you.”

“That is a _lie_.” Merlin punctuates that last bit for emphasis, loosening his tie. “If you guys have already made up your minds and are so convinced we’re one step away from beginning some kind of spectacular love affair, of course you’re going to see things.” 

He never listens to Gwen or Elena or Gwaine or anyone who tries to bring up Arthur’s imaginary infatuation with him, firmly believing that they read way too much into his and Arthur’s heated interactions. If Merlin were to be completely honest with himself, it’s also because he doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

He’s realistic if nothing else: Arthur’s just way too out of his league. He’s also most likely as straight as the cut of his beautiful bespoke gray suits that he looks so fucking good in, not that Merlin’s been paying that much attention or anything.

“Merlin,” Gwen sighs. “The two of you were civil for once during the dinner, and you seemed to be getting along just fine at the after party. You’ve harboured a torch for him for the longest time—”

“Three months, don’t exaggerate—”

“That’s pretty damned long. It’s just, it’s pretty obvious he’s into you as well. You’ve danced around each other for way too long, all right, just march into his office or something and kiss him already!”

“Oh, so now you understand what it was like for us when Lancelot was courting you?” Merlin says, teasing.

“Don’t change the subject.” Gwen does blush so very prettily. Merlin grins fondly at her. He had a bit of a crush on her when he’d first started being Arthur’s personal assistant, nay, slave. She’d been so nice and sympathetic during that first hellish month. He’d gotten over that soon enough when they become good friends, and when Merlin had started having stray thoughts about Arthur that weren’t altogether appropriate. Gwen and Lancelot are so lovely together, though, that it makes him feel vaguely diabetic just looking at the both of them.

“Gwen, I don’t remember anything after the party, okay? Nothing.” He scowls at the remnants of his pasta. “Not even if I’d been so drunk I puked all over my new shiny shoes and completely embarrassed myself in front of everyone. I woke up on the sofa in my flat at fuck ‘o clock in the morning, crick in my neck, and I don’t know how I— I don’t even remember getting _home!_ ”

The clinking sounds of Gwen’s spoon against the edges of her cup rather take away from the dramatic silence that follows, but Merlin feels he’s made his point. Sort of. She rests her chin on the back of her hand and peers at him, really scrutinises him. “No recollection of anything whatsoever? Some hanky-panky in the loo, or a couple of stolen kisses when you thought no one was looking?”

“No,” Merlin says, exasperated. “Really, nothing. And I don’t even know why everyone’s got this notion we’ve done the nasty, and why it’s spreading like wildfire. Why are they even bothering with this in the first place?”

Gwen pats his arm companionably. “You’re both terribly attractive blokes popular with everyone in the firm, and it does get so droll around here. The shouting matches you have with Arthur, however disruptive, do give us something to look forward to every other day because they’re entertaining. You guys seem to have this never-ending supply of fresh insults.”

He narrows his eyes. “And?”

She holds up her hands. “Yeah, all right, it’s fun, but we’re sick of you both being so wound up and obviously smitten with each other while not doing anything about it.”

“‘Smitten’,” Merlin repeats, scandalised. “That is such a misleading descript— we are not!” 

“Shush. He doesn’t yell at you so much these days, did you realise? He’s taken to just teasing you and shoving at you a little, the both of you exchanging sarcastic jibes. Ugh, I can’t take it. Just have sex already.”

“Again, are we seriously talking about the same Arthur? I’m not going to lie, I do fancy him something wicked, but he can’t possibly see me in that light, Gwen, come on. Have you seen him? He’s all swanked up and posh and all that jazz.”

Sitting back, Gwen fixes him with a skeptical expression, but her eyes are soft. “Don’t think of yourself as not being good enough for him. And don’t _you_ look at me like that, Merlin, I know you were thinking it. I think you’re wonderful for him; just ask anyone. You stand up to him and call him out when he’s being unreasonable, and even if he grumbles, he does listen to you.”

“Well, Arthur isn’t completely ridiculous. He listens to you and the others, too.”

“Yes.” And then, Gwen’s laughing. “But he doesn’t get this _look_ in his eyes when he talks to us. If only you weren’t so clueless! You’d see it the way we see it, clear as day. He’s so far gone.”

Merlin groans. “I keep telling you—”

Gwen makes a tutting noise. “Not listening. So, the rumour...”

“Who even started it?” Merlin makes a face. “There must’ve been a source.”

“Well, I heard it from Elena,” Gwen says nonchalantly. “Is it so bad, really? I mean, this might actually prompt him into doing something about it. Like, ooh, he could take you out to dinner! Somewhere fancy. Make sure he takes you somewhere fancy. Goodness knows he’s got the wallet for it.”

“You’re terrible. Are you trying to enable my hitherto undiscovered gold-digging tendencies?” Quite a number of people are leaving the café now, shuffling out into the gloomy afternoon air back into their building across the road. “I’m really not that angry about the rumour itself, but it’s just. I feel like I’m in a romcom right now. Gwen, I don’t think you comprehend the severity of the situation, but I could’ve possibly had mind-blowing, bendy sex with the most infuriating but hottest man I’ve ever known, and I will never know if I ever got to have Arthur Pendragon fuck me into the mattress because I was too fucking pissed to remember _anything_.”

“Or you could’ve had awkward sex with your boss, which would’ve still been awesome regardless because you got to tap that fine piece of arse.” Gwen waggles a finger at him. “Your life is so difficult, Merlin. Let me play the world’s smallest violin for you.”

“I am so serious right now. I know you weren’t there on that last department trip to the beach, but did you see the photos, Gwen? Did you, Gwen? Did you _see_ Arthur’s abs? I would do all manners of embarrassing things just for the chance to lick body shots off him, I swear to God.”

“Wipe that drool off the edge of your mouth.” Gwen pulls him out of his chair, and then they’re paying for their lunch and heading out the door. “Did Arthur hear anything about the rumours? Was he any different to you this morning?”

Merlin looks up at the towering building where their office is, on the sixteenth floor. “I’m not sure,” he confesses, before tapping his chin. “It was basically business as usual. He came in at eight on the dot, as per usual. Then, he cuffed me about the head, as per usual. And _after_ that, he passed me a cup of coffee before heading to a meeting with the other heads, which is... admittedly, not usual. He never gets me coffee.”

“Ah,” Gwen says wisely, patting him knowingly on his shoulder. It’s a bit of a stretch, because she’s only tiny and Merlin’s a bit of a beanpole, but she’s used to it. “Post-sex coffee. There’s your answer.”

“How did you even get to that conclusion?” Merlin looks at her, aghast, checking his watch. They’ve fifteen minutes or so until the break’s up. He wonders if Arthur’s had his lunch. “Sometimes, a coffee is just a coffee.”

“You said yourself that Arthur’s never done that before! It’s like how I make Lancelot waffles in the morning after we’ve had a particularly _fulfilling_ night.”

“...I really didn’t need to know that.”

“With fruits. And fresh cream. Because he’s so good at what he does. At sex. He is the best at sex. Just saying.”

“Oh, go away. Lancelot _stays_ the night, and you’re at least aware you did the deed!” Merlin argues. “The curiosity’s killing me, especially because I know it’s my own damned fault I don’t remember anything if we did do it. And I want to know! I want to know if I went down on him or if he’s a fantastic kisser or if we got off together, because I sure as hell know I’m not sore so at least _one_ thing didn’t happen—”

Gwen scrunches her face at him. “And you accuse me of TMI, you hypocrite.”

“I may or may not have had sex with Arthur ‘the sun shines out of my arse so kiss it, peasant’ Pendragon, I think my situation warrants it. I’ve not seen him since eight, and... well, speaking of, I should get him his lunch as usual.” Merlin gestures to Wong’s BBQ next to their café. “Want to come with?”

“We’ve got some time, I guess I can stand to hear you squirm over this sex mystery a while longer,” Gwen teases, walking alongside him while her shiny Mary Janes clop pleasantly against the uneven pavement. “Sometimes I wonder if he stays in for lunch all the time just so he can eat the takeaway meals you buy for him. Or if he’s waiting for you to ask him out for lunch. You men are terrible with your emotions, aren’t you?”

The smell of roast duck and pork drifts through the door as they enter, and although they’ve just had lunch, Merlin finds his mouth watering. “Nah,” he says, looking away from Gwen for a moment to order some rice for Arthur. “No hidden agendas or anything. He’s just a workaholic. You and the rest have tried to get him to join us for lunch before, remember? He just stays in and works through the day and after office hours instead of going home like a normal person.”

Gwen just turns to him and rests an elbow against the counter. “Like you, you mean?” She asks, sly. “Nobody ever sees either of you walk out the door of the office at night. Keep Arthur company, do you?”

“It’s not,” Merlin starts, feeling his entire face going red at Gwen’s _aha_ expression. “He gives me so much sodding crap to do during the day, anyway, it’s only natural I’d have to stay back some to clear the backlog. That’s all.”

Her eyebrows shoot up again. Merlin avoids her eyes and pretends to be hypnotised by the shiny lucky cat on the counter. “I’ve left the office at ten before, Merlin,” she says slowly, as if speaking to a small child and trying not to laugh. “We’ve heard him telling you to ‘go home, Merlin, don’t you have some bird or something you should take out on a date instead of staying here all the time?’ It’s your word against the entire department’s. You sure you’ve not been,” she winks at him. “...all along?”

“No!” As if. Merlin _wishes_ they’d been bumping uglies. He’d be a liar if he said he doesn’t entertain the thought of true porno-style office sex at all when he stays back with Arthur in the office, nearly falling asleep at his table but wanting to linger around in case Arthur needed anything. Still, those fantasies aren’t why he keeps the long hours, admittedly. 

Sometimes, Arthur wakes him up if he _does_ fall asleep, with a shake to his shoulder while he murmurs Merlin’s name, uncharacteristically gentle, so unlike what he shows the world when he and Merlin bicker at one another in the office. Every other evening, Merlin goes out to get some late takeaway coffees for himself and Arthur, leaving them quietly on Arthur’s desk as Arthur runs his hands through his hair and stares at his e-mails in silent agitation, shooting a tired but grateful expression Merlin’s way.

Mostly, he stays just to see Arthur, no matter how exhausted, smile his crooked half-smile at him when he steps out of his office in his immaculate-turned-slightly-rumpled suits a little after midnight each night, right before he ruins the almost-perfect moments of warmth by saying things along the lines of “Knew you were just that type of person who has no social life, _Merlin_.” 

Well, it would be ruined under different circumstances, but they’re very much _Arthur_ things for him to say. Merlin, despite his loud complaints and insults as to Arthur’s character, has long stopped finding them infuriating. Rather, he’s learned to read between the lines, to kind of grasp at what Arthur doesn’t say, or won’t. 

He does try to not get his hopes up, but sometimes, with the way Arthur looks at him when he thinks Merlin doesn’t see him, sarcastic edges softened with something he can’t quite name, Merlin can’t help wondering if he’s got even a smidgeon of a fighting chance.

Yeah, all right, Merlin’s pretty far gone, too.

But Gwen is right. For all that Merlin goes on about Arthur being a slavedriver, Arthur truly doesn’t expect Merlin to stay in the office. He’s a firm believer of treating his department staff fairly (outside of the ridiculous amount of work he loads on Merlin during the day), and that includes getting them to go back on time if they’re not in the middle or final stages of a large project. Merlin is no exception to this, but Merlin continues to defy him even in this respect.

Every day at six o’clock, Arthur asks Merlin to leave on time when he sees Merlin still typing away at his computer while everyone packs up for the evening. 

Every day at six o’clock, Merlin refuses, laughing and batting him off as they have their little exchange out of habit.

Every day at six o’clock, Arthur doesn’t ask: _will you stay with me again tonight?_ and Merlin doesn’t answer: _yes, of course, for you, always_.

“Lost causes.” Gwen shakes her head at him as Merlin takes the duck rice from the surly woman at the counter and walks out the door with her. She pats him almost in sympathy as they approach the sliding doors, welcoming them back into their monster of an office building. “The both of you.” 

“Oh, God,” Merlin says, realisation hitting him like a dull punch. He leans against the cool wall of the elevator, tucks his hands into his pockets. “What if it _was_ post-sex coffee? What am I going to say to him?”

“Keep calm and shag Arthur Pendragon over his desk.”

“Be _serious._ ” 

“Keep calm, sort out whatever this is, talk to him, and _then_ shag Arthur Pendragon over his desk.”

Merlin sighs, and holds the doors open for Gwen so she can get out first. “I feel like I’m, I don’t know, Schrödinger’s hook-up or something,” Merlin blathers, massaging his temples as they amble along the corridor. “If we did shag, there must’ve been a point where we were _both_ hooking up and not hooking up—”

Gwen turns to look at him, somehow managing to look both affectionate and exasperated at the same time. “The rather disturbing image of Schrödinger shacking up with someone aside... you’re rambling, and that’s saying something, coming from me. Merlin, relax! It’ll be fine. You’re overthinking this.”

“It won’t,” he moans, ushering her into their space past the receptionist who waves at them, hunched over her keyboard. “If I ask and it turns out we didn’t sleep together — I don’t know, I don’t really want him to know about me fancying him. It’d be awkward. And if we did, I’m not sure how he’d react. How I’d react.”

Gwen stops abruptly. “You’re afraid of him reciprocating your feelings.”

“Um.”

“Your awkward, confused man-feelings.”

“Hey, now—” The others are back at their desks, laughing, and they greet Merlin and Gwen as they walk around to their cubicles. He turns to Gwen, wondering how he must look like right now. Maybe a little crazy. “What if after all that, whether we slept together or not, he actually doesn’t mind— he actually wants this?” Merlin gestures at himself, not really sure what he’s trying to say. “Me?”

“Oh, Merlin.” Gwen steps over to him and gives him a brief, tight hug. “You’re awesome, and funny, and any bloke’d be lucky to have you. Or bird. But we’re talking about Arthur. I think you’d make him a very happy man, you silly thing.”

He swallows, trying to look cross, but Gwen’s indulgent smile tells him he’s not doing a very good job of it. “I’m not _scared_.”

“Yes, you are. You’re afraid he’ll say yes.” They reach her cubicle, finally, and she sits down. Gwen tilts a head in the direction of Arthur’s door, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Let him.”

“It’s not about him being my boss, Gwen. It’s just — what if I _fuck things up_ ,” Merlin whispers back near-hysterically. This morning’s felt like the longest period of time in Merlin’s life. 

“Then you do,” she says, serious. “Merlin, sometimes you have just got to try. And you’ve got to figure this out if it’s affecting you so much. And the both of you, you aren’t just colleagues. You aren’t friends. We don’t know what the hell to call you two, okay? But whatever it is between you, give Arthur some credit. You’ll work it out.”

“Fine.” Merlin slumps, and sidles back to his spot in the office, just outside Arthur’s. He logs in and lets his computer start up again after lunch before he strides over to Arthur’s office door. The bag in his hand feels awfully heavy, suddenly, and he can feel Gwen’s watchful gaze from across the cubicle on his back, and a couple of others besides. He glances back briefly at Gwen, who nods and gives him an encouraging half-smile, mouthing: “Go on!”

The loud chaos in the office dulls to a buzzing silence as every other colleague in the small room but Gwen tries to pretend they’re not looking at Merlin. He would roll his eyes, but he’s too nervous. Busybodies.

He takes a deep breath, lifts his hand and prepares to knock. 

“ _Merlin!”_ The muffled shout is loud and rings through their small, cramped space. Merlin looks behind at his other colleagues in bewilderment, and then realises it came from Arthur. “For God’s sake, stop dawdling outside. Either go back to your desk or come in here already, I haven’t got all day!”

The entire office bursts into laughter, the tension breaking. Someone whistles before he gets cut off, presumably by another more discreet colleague shoving at him. Merlin thinks he hears someone say, “Well, His Highness _sure_ is demanding.” Probably Gwaine. It’s always Gwaine. 

Merlin finds himself at a loss for words, flushing and sputtering in indignation before he barges in. “You absolute ass,” he exclaims, setting Arthur’s lunch down before him on the table and then slamming the door shut in his giggling colleagues’ faces. “I was going to come in anyway!”

Leaning back in his plush-backed chair, Arthur links his fingers together over his table and smirks. He's in some deceptively simple but probably painfully expensive purple shirt today that sets off the broadness of his shoulders and the rich wheat-gold colour of his hair; Merlin tries not to stare at how stupidly attractive Arthur is. It pisses him off, how much he wants Arthur, but Arthur's so fucking gorgeous sometimes he just can't help himself. “You sure were taking your own sweet time. That explains the ten thousand reports you’re behind on and the ridiculous number of e-mails you’ve not sent on my behalf. Cendred from digital was pretty irate in our meeting yesterday because you’d not finalised their requested edits for them.”

“What?” Merlin rages, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’ve already revised the budget and fixed the Gantt chart for them! Again! And they’re never satisfied with my proposals. Ever.”

“They don’t take kindly to the passive-aggressive insults you’re weaving into your wording,” Arthur says, snorting, opening his lunch and taking an appreciative sniff. Merlin can’t help himself; he chuckles, and Arthur shoots him a glare before digging in. “You’re not as subtle as you think. Accounting and design never really pick up on jibes but Cendred’s unusually perceptive when it comes to these things.”

“He’s that touchy bloke, isn’t he?” Merlin says, sighing, sitting down opposite Arthur. “I included an addendum once that read: ‘would appreciate mock-ups and storyboards ASAP’ and he went mental on us. It was a completely innocent comment! I kinda just needed an idea so we could cover potential ideas for our digital platforms.”

“Yes, well, delicate characters,” Arthur says, rolling his eyes between entire mouthfuls of rice. He’s obviously starving; Merlin feels a little guilty for not getting back to Arthur earlier with some food. It doesn’t make sense, because it’s not like that’s Merlin’s responsibility, but for all his intelligence and competence, Arthur’s really terrible with taking care of himself. Secretly, Merlin likes taking care of him, too, though he’ll never admit it. “Handle with care and all that. Pray that you never get into management, Merlin — you’ll be dealing with more characters like Cendred down the road. Take it from me.”

“Ha. I don’t envy you in the slightest. I might do your dirty, dirty paperwork for you, but I’m not cut out for what you do.” Merlin kicks back as well, mimicking Arthur’s pose. “Should I leave you two alone?” He says after, gesturing to Arthur and his lunch. “Only you seem to be getting really acquainted with each other. Closely. Intimately.”

“Fuck you,” Arthur says cheerfully, licking his lips. “Anyway, I can share; there’s always room for a threesome, if you want some. It’s actually pretty good, the chef’s really outdone himself this time.” 

“I’ll pass, I had lunch with Gwen.” Hearing Arthur say words like ‘threesome’ with the posh accented curl to his voice does things to Merlin. “But I should really be, um, getting back to work.”

“Oh. I — suppose you should,” Arthur says, looking a little thrown. He hesitates for a moment before adding, “Right. Thanks for lunch.”

Arthur looks expectant, for some reason, leaning forward in his seat and raising his eyebrows at Merlin. Merlin looks back at him, tilting his head a little. What, is he supposed to read Arthur’s mind, or something?

After a few seconds of an unusually awkward silence, Merlin gives up and makes to stand, but then changes his mind and sits back down. They usually bicker for a bit during his little visits to Arthur’s office to drop lunch off. This is the first time either of them has really excused themselves this way, because they find reasons to just hang around a bit more before they’ve really got to get around to finishing things. He likes talking to Arthur, and Arthur never seems to mind. He opens his mouth, and then closes it again, not quite sure what he wants to ask. 

“You got me coffee this morning.” 

He thinks he worded it pretty casually, but he doesn’t miss how Arthur doesn’t quite meet his eyes before saying, a bit too cautiously, “That I did.”

“Why?” It’s a bit much to expect Arthur to be completely honest with him, but Merlin crosses his fingers anyway where Arthur can’t see them. 

“Because I... wanted to?” Arthur coughs, looking uncomfortable, and Merlin has to admit it’s a little entertaining watching Arthur squirm. “You always get me coffee. I thought it’d be nice to return the gesture.”

Merlin just looks at him.

“It’s just coffee,” Arthur adds. 

“Is it, though?” Merlin leans in closer, pasting on his own calculating smirk. Arthur draws back a little, narrowing his eyes and giving him a suspicious look. “Just coffee?” 

“Hmm.” Arthur folds his arms, looking thoughtful. Merlin can almost see little Arthur-cogs whirring in his head. “Why do you ask, Merlin? It’s like you’re implying something else.” He asks, tone taking on a playful edge. “Something you want to tell me?” 

Classic Arthur, deflecting. It’s not like he didn’t see this coming, but Merlin bristles anyway. Two can play at this game. “For all that I put up with you and your antics, I rather figure I deserve more than _just_ a coffee,” Merlin mock-laments, and the slight hue of awkwardness to their conversation fades somewhat. 

“Oh? What did you have in mind?” Arthur feigns interest, clucking his tongue and raising an eyebrow at Merlin. His grin is disarming, as always. It’s almost like another one of their conversations, only with a new, flirtatious undertone that’s completely unfamiliar and growing increasingly appealing to Merlin by the minute.

He thinks he likes it.

“You’re the boss,” Merlin says, to start. Feeling uncharacteristically daring, he winks a little at Arthur, licking his lips. He’s rewarded when Arthur’s eyes widen, flicking to Merlin’s lips for the most fleeting of moments, and _hell_ , Gwen was _right_. Merlin’d never live this down.

He’d have to buy a her a drink. 

Arthur starts to laugh in disbelief, resting his chin against his thumb as he brushes his fingers against his lips absently, and... is he _blushing?_ He’s not the head of marketing for nothing, though; Arthur makes a quick recovery and schools his expression back into one of relative nonchalance, feigning a somber frown. “Now, now. Mr. Emerson, I think you’ll find that I am a benevolent superior who listens to my team’s needs, which also includes a skinny, smart-mouthed and occasionally useless PA—”

“Said skinny, smart-mouthed and _allegedly_ occasionally useless PA would appreciate a more complimentary description, thank you, and thinks that a raise would be nice, just saying—”

Arthur kicks him from under the table. Merlin yelps and tries to get away, but when he pushes his chair back, Arthur throws some crumpled up post-it notes at him.

“Hey!”

“That’s for being insufferable,” Arthur says smugly, before settling back in his imposing chair again. Merlin and the rest have taken to mockingly calling it the Throne, because of the way Arthur sits in it. They’re secretly planning to bring a small rabbit to the office one day so that they can make Arthur swivel around in it while stroking its ears, villain-style. “You’ve been acting weirder than usual, Merlin. Even for you. What’s this about?”

Merlin freezes, just a little bit, and wonders how awkward his half-smile must look like now.  Nothing for it, he doesn’t quite know how to dance around the topic anymore. “Uh. Haven’t you heard?”

Arthur furrows his brows. “Heard what?”

 

Merlin’s known Arthur for some time so either Arthur’s got some experience with playing clueless, cocksure male lead roles as a surly, fresh-faced youth in school and is thus a better actor than Merlin’d ever anticipated, or he truly doesn’t know about this. Merlin’s not confident enough to bet on the latter, because for all he knows, perhaps Arthur’s some kind of bizarre theatre prodigy that never quite made it to Broadway. Hey, Merlin tries not to judge books by their covers. Except maybe Fifty Shades of Grey. (And he had been right on that count.)

His heart’s beating faster in his chest as he takes a deep breath, willing some of the panic simmering in his system to just go the fuck away. “There’ve been some rumours this morning. Well, just the one. It’s... um.” Merlin loses a bit of his courage, which probably isn’t saying a lot because there wasn’t much of it to begin with. “It’s about me?” He ends, weakly.

His elbow rested on the table, Arthur taps his fingers against his cheek, frowning. Merlin still can't suss out if he's acting just to prolong Merlin's discomfort. Sadistic git. “Not that I know of. I’ve been in here all day.”

“Nothing at all?”

“No, although Gwaine did smirk at me a little more than usual this morning when I bumped into him at the gent’s. Who knows why Gwaine does what he does, anyway—”

“Right, right,” Merlin says quickly, relief flooding his system like a shot to his veins as he makes to get up. “Absolutely. Now, forget I said anything. Whoa, would you look at the time! I should get back to that atrocious mountain of paperwork my nightmare of a superior saw fit to leave on my desk this morning.”

 

He’s just about to make his escape with his hand already gripping the door handle like a lifeline when wheels roll noisily over the birch floor and Arthur’s there, suddenly, tugging at his arm. When he turns, he sees that Arthur’s got a shit-eating grin on.

“What,” Merlin says flatly, even as Arthur inches even closer into his personal space.

“A rumour, you say.” Arthur’s grin spreads even wider. “An embarrassing one? What’s it about?”

Merlin’s uncomfortably aware of how close Arthur is to him like this, the grip of his fingers hot through the thin fabric of Merlin’s sleeve. The way Arthur’s sweeping his thumb absently against Merlin’s arm is terribly distracting. Arthur is terribly distracting, him and his stupid attractive face. Still, this is routine, Arthur being an ass, teasing Merlin all the time and Merlin pushing back, so he does. “You mean about how I have a boss who can’t keep his nose out of others’ business?”

“Aw, Merlin.” Arthur’s crowding him against the door now, propping an arm just over Merlin’s head. Merlin steps back until he can’t, amused but still a little terrified at the slightly manic way Arthur is eyeing Merlin this near. He shouldn’t be finding this hot. “What are you hiding? Hmm?”

“Never would’ve figured you for a gossipy housewife sort,” Merlin says, but his voice doesn’t quite come out as steady as he would’ve liked it. “You wanna find out if I’ve been at it with my fit, young gardener?” 

“Don’t even try, Morgana made me marathon _Desperate Housewives_ with her once,” Arthur laughs. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just ask one of the many gossips outside. Have you run into a bunch of them in the pantry before? The things you hear, I swear.”

Merlin laughs too, despite himself. “Don’t tell me — is this about what Morgana made Leon do that one time? The spanking incident?”

“Ugh, no, don’t bring it up. I could do without images of Morgana bending Leon over a kitchen sink in front of a mirro— just don’t,” Arthur says, shuddering. “So, what fun rumour’s flying around about my favourite personal assistant?”

“I’m your _only_ personal assistant,” Merlin points out, trying not to overthink Arthur’s use of the word ‘favourite’. He changes tactics. “Why do you want to know, anyway?”

Arthur hums. “It’s Monday. I’m pretty tuned to office gossip, even if people think I’m not.” 

“Gossipy housewife,” Merlin repeats. “You just want something to lord over my head and use to make fun of me, you wanker!”

“You can't talk to me like that!"

"I most certainly can."

"Fine," Arthur huffs. "A bloke needs inspiration. Anyway, if it’s nothing I’ve not heard of before today, it means it must refer to something that happened over the weekend.”

Merlin goes very still.

“Ergo, the company dinner,” Arthur continues, turning to look at Merlin. “When you got completely pissed; a friendly reminder, if you forgot.”

“I wasn’t that drunk,” Merlin replies automatically, somehow feeling the need to make his alcohol tolerance more impressive than it actually is.

“A couple of champagne flutes and you were a goner.” Arthur snorts. He yanks Merlin forward, unexpectedly, so that Merlin stumbles and clutches onto Arthur’s shirt for support before he can stop himself. When he looks up into Arthur’s face, he finds with a small degree of alarm that he can’t read Arthur’s expression. Not this time. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?” Merlin’s heart sinks at the loaded question. 

Arthur chuckles, and although it sounds resigned, he ruffles Merlin’s hair. “That’s all right. I can’t blame you, you were really out of it that evening.”

Merlin swats at Arthur’s hands, and folds his arms, pouting a little. “Stop making fun of my inability to handle bubbly,” he objects, while Arthur laughs. “The last thing I remember is walking towards the balcony to get some air.”

“Stumbling,” Arthur corrects.

“I do not stumble. I am as graceful as a majestic buck in a forest. Take that back.”

“Never. You’re the klutz of the office, don’t even bother denying it. I followed you,” Arthur says, and Merlin tenses, because that does certainly explain the others’ insistence that the rumour is quite obviously true. “Just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Merlin coughs, a little sheepish, before he makes an all-encompassing gesture at himself. “I’m here, aren’t I? It was just champagne.” He pauses, then adds, “Thanks.” 

“It was nothing.” Arthur’s words fade into the silence between them for a bit, before he speaks again, out of the blue, looking a little embarrassed. “Um. Whatever the rumour is, if it's based on that... there’s probably some truth to it.”

“Say what?”

“Well, on the balcony, we kissed.”

Oh, God. “We _kissed?_ ”

“Why, Merlin, why not say that louder, I don’t think the entire building heard you!” Arthur hisses at him, pulling him away from the door and back against his desk so Merlin’s half-sitting on it while Arthur looms over him. “And for the record, you kissed me. Ha.” He’s smirking at Merlin triumphantly, now.

“I must’ve been really drunk, then.” His ears feel hot; Merlin wants to crawl into a hole and die. He can’t look at Arthur. “I can’t believe I did that.”

Arthur’s still smiling, but his expression flickers. “I see,” he says, cheerful but carefully measured, stepping back from Merlin. “Yeah, you were really drunk. That’s all.”

It occurs to him belatedly what his words might’ve sounded like. “Arthur, that’s not what I— I don’t remember how it happened, all right?” he says instead, hopelessly, because he doesn’t. “I just wouldn’t do it sober. Guess it’s true what they say about liquid courage.”

When he does look up after a bit, his heart skips a beat at seeing the vulnerability in Arthur’s face, just barely kept in check. The hurt, too, and the question in his eyes. Merlin had told Gwen he didn’t dare to hope, but maybe, just maybe, there’s something here after all.

“Courage to?” Arthur asks, tentative, placing a firm palm next to Merlin’s thigh on the table. His movement’s a lot bolder than his voice seems to suggest. Merlin’s never seen him this unsure. Hell, Merlin’s never been this unsure, himself.

“To do that,” Merlin answers, in a small voice, hand trembling as he reaches out and wraps his fingers around Arthur’s wrist in a reckless decision, pulling Arthur just a little bit closer. It’s like being drunk, too, only everything’s clear as crystal in front of him from Arthur’s parted lips to the creases of his collar, and he’s more aware of Arthur’s proximity now than ever. “If I wasn’t drunk, I wouldn't have— but I wanted to, at the dinner. I thought about it.”

“Yeah?” Arthur doesn’t look as apprehensive anymore, his lips quirking into a half-smile as he moves even closer. A hot curl of anticipation rides low in Merlin’s belly when he shifts his hand to rest on Merlin’s knee, stepping in between Merlin’s legs against the table. “Wanted to what?”

He feels like he’s a teenager again, for some reason, utterly incapable of forming words around his pretty first crush. Only this isn’t high school, and he’s not just walked into a door face-first when his crush came walking around, and this is Arthur, who kind of really does mean a great deal to Merlin beyond how fit he looks in suits and jeans and the roaring rows they have in the office when they’re not having their teasing exchanges. 

Only Merlin won’t admit it, of course. And even if Arthur feels the same, he probably won’t, either.

“You know.”

“ _Merlin_.” Arthur knocks his forehead against Merlin’s, and they both laugh nervously, breathlessly at that little jolt back to their familiar routine. The light moment fades as quickly as it’d appeared, as his voice takes on a cajoling edge. “Tell me.”

“You’re such a pillock,” Merlin says, voice softer too, and why are they whispering? “You just want me to say it—”

“Maybe I do.” Arthur pushes Merlin’s knees apart a little further, settles in between them, stroking Merlin’s knee with light, absent brushes that make it really hard to concentrate on his voice. Probably intentional. Ass. “Humour me.”

“Arthur,” Merlin murmurs, and then Arthur’s suddenly close, too close, his breath almost on Merlin’s lips. 

Arthur’s other hand reaches up to cup Merlin’s face, a bent thumb tilting Merlin’s chin up while his other fingers stroke the edge of Merlin’s ears, his cheek. “Merlin. Please?”

Taking in a shuddering breath, Merlin leans into the touch, smiling secretly against Arthur’s palm. “All my months of working here and this is the first time you say ‘please’ with such sincerity. Figures.”

“I’m plenty sincere,” Arthur objects, and now he’s trailing his nails down the sensitive back of Merlin’s neck, just where the curls of his hair end. Merlin bites his lip, because seriously, if there’s any way to quickly make Merlin lose any remaining ounce of his self-control, it’s through teasing the back of his neck. He resists arching into the touch.

“I won’t,” Merlin says, eyes half-lidded, and his heart’s beating so quickly in his chest it’s a wonder Arthur doesn’t hear it. “You can’t make me.” 

The challenge, flung at Arthur, riles him up as it always does. He can be so predictable. And he is, Merlin notes as he crows internally, watching Arthur’s expression change to one of indignation, like the one he gets when sales, having mastered the same trick with provoking Arthur, make cleverly worded comments about Arthur’s ability to get him to push his team for more results.  

“Oh?” And Arthur sounds dangerous now, a little dark, as he twists his fingers into Merlin’s hair, pulling a little to hurt. Christ. He’s fucking hot like this. The vivid images of that high-resolution office porn he’d wanked to that other night flit traitorously through his mind, and Merlin bats them away, trying not to think about _Arthur_ and _dominating_ and _come all over_ in the same sentence. “We’ll see about that.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Merlin counters immediately, because he doesn’t know when to shut up.

Arthur draws back a little, looking at Merlin incredulously, and barks out a laugh. “You insubordinate little— you— no words, Merlin, seriously.”

Merlin’s face aches from smiling, but he’s just so fucking giddy from the discovery he’d never expected to make when stepping into Arthur’s office today: that Arthur wants him, too. “Really? I think you like it when I mouth off at you.”

“I swear, Merlin, only you make insults seem appealing.” His fingers are slipping idly under Merlin’s collar now, raking lightly, driving Merlin insane. “Saucy minx.”

“ _I’m_ the minx?” Merlin asks, feigning outrage.

Arthur brushes his lips against Merlin’s cheek, near his ear, like a lover’s whisper. “You should’ve seen yourself that night. Called my name, crooked your finger, and I was lost when you kissed me and had your wicked way with me.”

“Filthy lies and accusations,” Merlin says, breath hitching, when Arthur presses his lips to his jaw and untucks Merlin’s shirt, sliding over the hot, shivering skin above his belt. “You probably took advantage of my helpless, drunken state.”

There’s a low chuckle in Merlin’s ear right before Arthur pulls one of Merlin’s legs up to hook it around his waist, and his voice is even closer now. “There was nothing helpless about the way you flipped me around and pinned me against the wall, Merlin.” He’s stroking up Merlin’s back now, dipping to his waist and inching up to his chest under his shirt, which has always been too loose for him, anyway. 

“Nothing helpless about the way you bit and sucked at my neck, like you’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” Arthur says, soft, almost in wonder. And _now_ Merlin sees the hickeys up close, with Arthur’s collar undone, just at the edge of his neck and shoulder. The thought of himhaving been the one to leave them there makes him dizzy with lust. 

“Nothing helpless,” Arthur continues as he racks Merlin’s shirt up to brush a nipple and pinch it, lightly, “about the way you fell to your knees and sucked my cock, took me in your mouth and swallowed it all when I came.”

It’s not helping, the graphic images flooding his mind and Arthur purring his infernal descriptions into his ear. He leans back a little, a silent invitation, and Arthur takes it.

“I don’t,” Merlin says, half-dazed, feeling Arthur nuzzle and bite at his chin. He’s even more annoyed with himself now for forgetting what happened, because if it was anything like what they’re doing now at all, it would’ve made for prime wank material. For possibly every remaining day of his life. “I really don’t remember it. Oh, your fingers, fuck—”

“That we didn’t.” Arthur unbuttons the top few buttons of Merlin’s shirt. “If I didn’t stop you, we would’ve— so fucking insatiable.” He kisses down to Merlin’s chest and starts sucking bruises there, too, marking him. 

Merlin would expect that of Arthur, but when he tilts his head just so and sees the dark love bites he left at the crook of Arthur’s shoulder, it makes him want to do what Arthur said he did all over again, biting at Arthur’s neck while Arthur writhes under him, arching into Merlin’s fist on his cock. To see Arthur losing all that control he has at work, have him groan Merlin’s name as he tipped over the edge.

Fuck, Merlin’s swearing alcohol off for life.

“Why did you stop?” Merlin manages, wrapping both his legs around Arthur, trying to find an angle that won’t cause him to careen off Arthur’s desk and create a ruckus. The last thing they need is for all their colleagues to find them like this, flushed and panting into hot skin. He bucks up against Arthur, a delicious grind, their cocks brushing through the fabric, and fuck, Arthur’s hard, he could just— wow, he’s actually living an office porno. “Could’ve just had me, right there on the balcony. I always have a condom and lube in my pocket.”

“Oh, my God.” Arthur laughs. The slide of Arthur’s palm against his thigh feels like it’s searing through the fabric to Merlin’s skin, so close to where he wants Arthur to touch him. “You skank.”

“I just like to be prepared!” Merlin huffs. He hooks an arm around Arthur’s neck and licks up to Arthur’s ear, relishing in Arthur’s startled, half-broken moan. “You never know when you’re going to end up shagging your boss on a deserted balcony during a company dinner.”

“You’re just lucky I’m clean,” Arthur says. The sound of him undoing Merlin’s zipper seems to ricochet obscenely loud in the office, but then there’s a palm rubbing against him, right there, and Merlin doesn’t quite give a fuck about anything else anymore. “I was attempting to protest, but with your mouth just there— God, do you know what you do to me? Just seeing you on your knees like that, like— like what I’d imagined so many times before—”

He doesn’t quite touch Merlin, though, not really, just presses through his partially opened trousers maddeningly, slow circles while he breathes heavily against Merlin’s cheek. Merlin briefly wonders how much time has passed and if everyone outside is wondering if they’re shagging on Arthur’s desk. (That guess wouldn’t be too far off.)

“I knew that,” he says, and gasps softly when Arthur hooks a thumb in one of his belt loops, pulling him closer. “That you were clean. You were in New York that one time and made me get your health results for you, remember? Slavedriver. Had to wait in a fucking jam to get it and then call you back with the information.”

“That’s your _job!_ Complain, complain.” Arthur rocks against him, slow, and Merlin thinks he could come just like this in his pants, feeling like he’s ten years younger and rutting against the first boy he’d ever taken home while his mother was out, gasping with fingers fisted in the sheets as the heat took over. 

“It bloody well wasn’t office-related, you ass.” But Merlin hadn’t minded, really, he just likes complaining at/about/with Arthur because he can. And Arthur knows that, too.

“Well, it led to one of the most spectacular blow jobs I’d ever received in my decidedly short life, so I can’t say I’m in any position to say anything.”

“You’re in a position to _do_ something now,” Merlin says dryly, managing deadpan pretty well considering his compromising position and state of undress while he looks down meaningfully at his neglected crotch and back to Arthur’s face again, hoping he gets the hint. “We’re already at the foreplay scene of what appears to be a full-on office porno, so we might as well  finish the job, don’t you think?”

“Bossy. I thought I was the one in charge in this office.” Undoing the rest of Merlin’s buttons, Arthur pushes Merlin down against the desk and sweeps his hand up Merlin’s torso, the warmth of him providing a pleasant contrast to the cool air in the room. It’s really a much bigger desk than he’d first imagined, and it really would be, well, perfect for fucking on. “Also, office porno? Been thinking of a scenario like this, have you?”

“No,” Merlin lies.

“Liar,” Arthur says immediately, quiet and guttural. Maybe it’s conditioning, because whenever Arthur walks in for a pitch, his domineering air and charisma draws everyone’s attention to him throughout his presentations. He has a voice that, when used to issue commands, Merlin finds very hard to disobey. While he defies Arthur a lot when they’re arguing over small things, Arthur’s soft and effortlessly authoritative _I do mean business_ voice makes him shudder all over.

Like it is, now. He’s so aroused he can’t see straight.

“What if I have?” He pulls Arthur down, so that Arthur’s almost bent over the table, too. “When we stay back, and no one’s around... when it’s quiet, and you smile at me like an invitation? It makes me want to ride you in your chair, right in this office overlooking the view of the city.” And he really has contemplated sliding down on Arthur’s cock there, gripping the edges of Arthur’s desk, imagining Arthur fucking up deep into him, hands hard and punishing on Merlin’s hips. 

Arthur groans into Merlin’s neck, stroking his sides idly. “You wouldn’t have been the only one. I think about it when you walk in,” he confesses, taking Merlin’s lobe between his teeth. “Wonder what you’d look like splayed all over my desk against the damned paperwork, all your pale skin as I touch and mark you everywhere.”

“And you didn’t think to just ask?” He turns his head to the side, baring his neck as Arthur drags teeth and tongue down the line of his jaw and neck again, taking his sweet time. “We could’ve been doing this all along.”

Arthur chuckles again, that little bashful sound that makes Merlin’s heart leap. “I didn’t want it to be just a shag. Or something. It would’ve been nice, tearing your clothes off and fucking you against my desk, don’t get me wrong, but I thought we should — I don’t know. I didn’t know how to go about it.”

“About what?” Arthur’s nudging his arms now, pinning them above his head. It feels like he’s surrendering, but he lets Arthur have this, that firm grip locking his wrists in place. He’d imagined various scenarios with Arthur, but Arthur’s been more sweetly possessive in his actions than he’d imagined. Also, gentler. It’s nice. 

“Um.” Arthur pauses, lips brushing Merlin’s bobbing adam’s apple as Merlin swallows. “I’d see you every night, staying back with me, wondering if you thought the same, if you wanted... wanted more.”

“...was all the work _fictional?_ ” Because Merlin’s going to kill Arthur if it was; he’d genuinely enjoyed being there for Arthur and getting his own share of work done, but really!

“No!” Shifting so he’s above Merlin again and looking into his face, messy blond bangs falling all over the place, Arthur laughs. “Okay, I was a lot more productive than I needed to be, but I can’t say the other departments complained. And if it got too boring doing work, I knew I could count on you to waltz in and distract me with coffee.”

Merlin’s still not over Arthur bringing him coffee, because really, that just didn’t happen. He smiles, though, sly. “I could distract you in other ways from now on,” he drawls, just to see if he can make Arthur’s eyes glaze over. He does. “If things are particularly dreary, I’ll crawl under your desk and see if I can’t persuade you to take a break.”

“Minx,” Arthur says again, shaking his head. “What am I to do with you?”

Merlin’s smile widens. “I can think of a few things.”

“Smart ass. You never shut up, do you?” But Arthur’s affectionate, teasing, even more so than he usually is; Merlin’s kicking himself for never noticing it before, but he’s sure glad of this, now.

“I’m starting to want you to _make_ me.”

“Oh, it’s _on_ , Emerson.” They’re laughing, Arthur kissing down his forehead and brow with his hands going wonderful, wonderful places again, when Arthur’s phone rings.

He clears his throat and lets go of Merlin, pushing himself off the table as he checks the extension. “Yes, Gwen?”

“Just kiss already!” Gwaine’s voice rings loud over the phone, and Merlin thinks he hears Gwen’s tell-tale giggle. “We don’t know what the hell you’re doing in there, all the muffled talking and laughing, but get it going, man!”

“Gwaine!” Gwen cries, trying not to laugh. A few others join in.

Merlin covers his face with the back of his arm, snorting, feeling himself go red to the tips of his ears as he sits up. He shuffles over to Arthur and slides a hand up his thigh, giving Arthur a mischievous smirk.

“I can’t imagine what you’re referring to, Gwaine,” Arthur says, with a perfectly calm and level voice for someone who’s just been ravishing his personal assistant against a now scattered mountain of paperwork, even as he shoots Merlin a warning look. Merlin ignores it, lets his fingers travel upwards until he undoes Arthur’s buttons with a few deft flicks, drawing the zipper down. “Don’t you have some indignant executives you need to appease for the Accor account by this evening?”

“Such a spoilsport, princess.” Arthur just grunts in reply to Gwaine’s drawl, attemping to bat Merlin’s hand away, but even Merlin can tell his heart’s not in it. He brushes his knuckles against Arthur’s heat through his dark briefs, feeling some satisfaction when Arthur’s breath hitches, when he bites down on his lip in an effort to stay silent. 

“Get back to work,” Arthur manages, and hangs up to Gwaine crowing, “I knew it!” to the sound of whooping in the background. The entire office, by the sounds of it.

“Spoilsport,” Merlin echoes Gwaine, snickering, when Arthur pulls his hands away and grips his wrists. “You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were eavesdropping.”

“I’d rather not have Gwaine tell everyone you were doing unspeakable things to me while on the phone.” Rolling his eyes, Arthur turns Merlin’s palms around, traces little patterns on his skin, and pulls Merlin to him before he locks his arms around Merlin’s waist so that Merlin’s kind of semi-straddling him against the desk, his legs tangled with Arthur’s. “Besides,” Arthur continues, giving Merlin a look that promises all kinds of things from the romantic to the utterly filthy, “I think I’d rather keep you to myself.”

Merlin blushes. He can’t help it. “Possessive, much?”

“Problem?” Arthur shoots back at him, grinning, playing with the skin just above Merlin’s tailbone again, a sensation between ticklish and thrilling. “Can you blame me? I want to be the only one who really sees you like that — when you give me that little private look, when you arch your back as I touch you.”

The room’s gone very quiet as Arthur speaks, his words hushed and almost like a caress. He’s always had a kink for Arthur’s bossy voice, but Merlin thinks he could get used to the low, lilting poetry of Arthur saying intimate things in his ear. Oh, yes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Arthur murmurs, kissing Merlin’s fingers when Merlin strokes his face, pressing his lips to a knuckle, then two. The tenderness of it breaks something in Merlin’s heart, but puts it back together in the next moment when Arthur smiles up at him, the beautiful man. 

Merlin’s heart swells when he realises, then, that he wants to see that smile all the time. He wants to hear Arthur laugh in the kitchen during a lazy weekend, the first rays of morning sunlight catching off the window and the dinner table as they share a pot of coffee (with room for milk for Merlin’s, while Arthur takes his black with two sugars). He wants to know what Arthur thinks of his favourite band, if Arthur likes cheesecake—

“Merlin, I don’t,” Arthur begins, and hesitates, nuzzling at Merlin’s arm. “I don’t do flings.”

He nudges a little closer into Arthur’s space, playing with the little wispy golden hairs at Arthur’s nape. It’s been a while since he’s done this with anyone, and it feels wonderful with Arthur, who has rather soft hair. Merlin will have to remember to tease him about this, later. “Neither do I.”

“As I was saying before you _distracted_ me—” Arthur ignores Merlin’s sputtering. “I really didn’t want it to be just a fucking awesome semi-exhibitionistic shag, to be forgotten and never mentioned again. No, shut up, you’ve got that gleam in your eye that means you’re going to gloat about it.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Merlin replies, innocently.

“You were _going_ to.”

“Wasn’t.” He sticks his tongue out at Arthur, who smacks his arse in response. Maybe he should do that more often. “Keep telling me about how fucking awesome the semi-exhibitionistic shag I don’t remember was.”

“I can’t believe you forgot,” Arthur half-laments, but he ruffles Merlin’s hair again. It happens often, and Merlin always whines about it just to be contrary even if he does secretly like it. “But again, you were really out of it. I’m just glad you didn’t throw up in my car when I sent you home.”

“It was you?” Merlin leans into Arthur’s touch, and it turns gentle, soft curls of fingers in his hair. “What happened, after all that?”

“I insisted on taking you home, because you were so utterly pissed,” Arthur says, fondly, smiling at the memory.  “You threw a bit of a fit over it on the balcony, as you do, but I thought it best you get some rest rather than staying on to make any other questionable decisions that night.”

Merlin laughs. “You considering yourself a questionable decision I made?”

“More like _did_ , hey?” Arthur raises an eyebrow at him, and Merlin flicks a finger at his forehead. “It was great, but I didn’t want things to escalate too much in case you regretted... what transpired between us come Monday. Today.” He looks up at Merlin. “I see that you’re not, now, but I can’t say I wasn’t worried about it in the morning. I know we just joked about it, but I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you. I wouldn’t.”

“You weren’t that sober,” Merlin points out. He believes Arthur, because for all his teasing, Arthur’s a man of integrity, who tries to do the right thing. Arthur also can’t lie for shit, if his floundering lies to get out of meetings with some of the other department heads who fancy him are any indication. Merlin’s kind of lost count of the number of times he’s had to cover for Arthur whenever Vivian comes around in her snappy heels, making veiled insults about Merlin’s background in her even snappier voice.

“Certainly more sober than you were!” Arthur hums then, as if deep in thought. “Though that’s not saying much, is it.”

“Twat,” Merlin says. “And what if I said I’d wanted you to take advantage of me, hmm?”

“Still not all right, Merlin, and you know it.” It warms him how guilty Arthur looks, because he shouldn’t be, really. “I’m glad you’re not against this, but I shouldn’t have let it get so out of hand that night.”

“I don’t doubt that I all but mauled you, Arthur,” Merlin says, pulling Arthur’s arms back around his waist when he seems to draw back, distancing himself a little. “I’ve, um, been thinking of it for a while. I’m not using alcohol as an excuse, but I guess it finally gave me that little extra push of sorts to kind of really, finally go after what I wanted.”

“Are you sure?” Arthur’s lips are set in a worried line. Merlin leans forward to swipe a thumb over them, meeting Arthur’s blue eyes with his own. 

“Yes, you virtuous pillock. If I was that eager to get my mouth on your dick, it’s only because I’ve spent the last few weeks fantasising about that one exact thing.”

Arthur groans and buries his face in Merlin’s chest. “Don’t say stuff like that after we’ve finally calmed down, it just makes me want to do things to you all over again. On my desk. In at least five different positions.”

“Just five?” Merlin makes a disapproving noise, feigning a stuffy air. “How disappointing.”

“Oh, cut a man some slack!”

“Never.” Merlin lets his wrists drop to Arthur’s shoulders, just curling at the edge of that collar. Arthur’s shirt is rumpled now from their little indiscretions, and it’s a good look on him when you pair it with the flyaway blond hair and his parted lips. “Anyway, it was rather gentlemanly of you to send me back and not fuck me into the couch while I was still in my half-drunken state. Kudos to you.”

“I’m not some kind of asshole, and I didn’t want to rope you into anything you didn’t want after what happened at the party. I enjoyed it, but...” Arthur frowns, looking apprehensive for a moment. “I wanted another time with you where we were both sober. You deserve more than just a drunken shag. I’d like to take you out, Merlin.”

“You going to wine and dine me, Arthur? Like a pretty lady in a cocktail dress?”

“Didn’t know you experimented with cross dressing, Merlin.” Arthur gives him a deliberate once-over, sweeping from his throat to his legs, and back up to Merlin’s mouth. Merlin swears he can feel the heat of those eyes on him. “Though, if you’re offering, I think you’d look very fetching indeed in blue.”

“Only if you try it on first!”

Arthur chuckles. “All right, I was joking, obviously. You got me. So, what do you say?”

Merlin smirks at him, biting his bottom lip. “To putting a blue dress on, or?" He asks, just to mess with Arthur.

Predictably, Arthur rolls his eyes, but grins at Merlin anyway. "No, idiot. To going out with me."

“What did you have in mind?”

“I’ll sort something out,” Arthur says mysteriously, with the air of someone who’s got access to quite a fearsome number of contacts in the city and knows ten different ways to make maître d’s cry when they see him walk in the door. “But meanwhile, I do have something else I want to try for now... you know, quite a large chunk of this conversation could’ve been avoided if you’d just checked your bleeding coffee cup.”

Merlin’s snorting at the mental image of a stocky, mustached man in a fancy suit drawing back from a wrathful Arthur Pendragon at the entrance of a restaurant when Arthur’s words kick in. “What?”

“Not that I’m complaining about your, um, enthusiasm, but... I honestly thought that was what you were talking about, until it became very clear you didn’t know to what I was referring to.”

“Excuse _you_ , you were just as enthused if not more. What the fuck are you talking about?” He didn’t remember checking his coffee cup at all; he’d been so bewildered at Arthur bringing him coffee he’d just blinked while he first gulped down his hot coffee, nearly spilling the rest when he frantically reached across his table for cold water to soothe the scalding. 

Arthur looks shifty. “Just check your damned coffee cup later.”

“Oh, my God. I cannot even believe you. I’m going to do it right now and you’re going to explain why you can’t ask me out like a normal person.” Merlin pushes himself off Arthur and fixes his shirt and pants before he opens the door.

Everything suddenly shifts to a very interested silence. Merlin can feel everyone’s raised eyebrow, every eyeball looking askance at him.

“What?” He says, striding back to his cubicle, holding his head high. “Never seen an office almost-porno before?”

“You said it, not us,” Gwen stage whispers. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“I’ve never hated those tinted glass walls more than in that last half an hour,” Gwaine says, propping himself on the top of his cubicle wall and resting his chin on his arms. “So it’s true, then? You and His Highness?”

“He really hates it when you call him that, you know,” Merlin says, both out of reproach and because he wants to change the subject. Not like he’s going to have any luck the way the rest of them are straining to hear this particular exchange. They’re not even subtle about it.

“It’s why I do it,” Gwaine agrees affably, waggling his eyebrows. “It’s so fun getting him all huffy. Anyway, the two of you left in quite a hurry that night. Of course people would talk.”

“Busybodies, the lot of you. No comment.”

Gwen sniffs, going so far as to take out her hanky and dab at her perfectly dry cheeks. “I can’t believe our baby boy is all grown up now. Why, it seems like just yesterday he was too drunk to remember whether he actually had sex!”

Merlin side-eyes Gwen. Hard. “That _was_ yesterday.”

“Exactly my point.”

“Oh, leave it.” He sits down, pauses, then stands up again to peer over his cubicle walls to glare at the rest of them. “Don’t you have some work to be attending to?” 

“You’re even starting to sound like him.” Gwaine wrinkles his brows in playful distaste. “Eh, it was probably only a matter of time. Hope it ain’t contagious.”

Aiming for Gwaine, Merlin tosses a crumpled ball of paper at his head. “Go away.”

Gwaine blows a raspberry and sits back down, while Gwen just leans over back in her chair to look at Merlin. “Honestly, though, everything okay? Did you get things fixed up?”

Merlin sighs. He looks around to ensure everyone’s gotten back to their own business, and shifts his chair over. “So the cat is alive.”

Gwen stares at him, but a smile’s slowly creeping onto her face too, the excitement starting to show in her eyes. “You mean—”

“Schrödinger?” He shrugs, grinning at her and winking. He leans forward, lowering his voice. “I think he asked me out, but he insists he communicated some kind of super secret message via the coffee he got me this morning.”

“Told you,” Gwen says, just as Merlin knew she would. “Post-sex coffee!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Merlin says, putting aside his paperwork to reach for the empty cup of coffee he’d kept from the morning he knows is just sitting behind the Star Wars bookend Arthur’d gotten him for Christmas. It is by all accounts just an ordinary coffee cup, with ribbed sides and a dark cap. He tilts his head, turning the cup around.

“Well, I assume he’s trying to be romantic or something. What’s it say?”

“Haven’t found anything yet.” He frowns, and turns it around. “Romantic? Arthur? You sure we’re talking about the same Pendragon?”

“Well, unless you somehow mistook Uther for Arthur last Saturday when you were so drunk you didn’t even remember getting laid, or if Morgana’d put on that infamous strap-on and tailed you to the balcony — oh, that sounds like the beginnings of a good rumour.” Gwen pauses. “Wait, you and Morgana have never—”

“Are you kidding me? Uther’d have my head if wind of that ever got around! He’s only grudgingly fine with Leon as is because Arthur and him were mates in school. And, well, I suppose word getting round about Morgana totally doing what you implied with Leon against a sink has helped some.”

There’s a moment of horrified but intrigued and reluctantly aroused silence.

“Don’t forget the spanking.” Gwen clears her throat, her cheeks a little pink. “Yeah, moving on.”

“Yes, please.” Merlin takes off the cap and peers in, holding the cup between his forefinger and thumb, squinting in to see where the coffee’s dried. “Nope, nothing inside either.”

“Oh!” Sounding surprised, Gwen taps at his shoulder. Merlin turns to her, a questioning expression on his face. “Merlin, look at the bottom!”

“What the hell?” He holds it up, and sure enough, there’s Arthur’s freakishly neat cursive scrawl at the bottom in what looks like thin black Sharpie ink. “Seriously? Who would notice _that?_ ”

“He clearly overestimated your abilities of observation. Arthur obviously doesn’t know you as well as we do, sweetcakes!” Gwen laughs. “His writing is tiny as anything, so why don’t you read it and tell me what it says? Can’t see jack from my side.”

Merlin reads it, mouthing it silently, feeling the beginnings of a smile pull at his lips. Finally, he lets his arm drop, and exhales. “That idiot.”

“What?” Gwen demands, eyes shining. “Is it a poem?”

“I want to know too!” Gwaine pipes up from behind him, ever the eavesdropping scandalmonger.

Kicking at the carpeted floor so he’s seated back in his cubicle, Merlin shakes his head and puts a finger to his lips. “I think I’ll keep this one secret to myself, thanks!”

Gwen and Gwaine groan simultaneously, but they leave Merlin to his coffee cup while a couple of others who’d been interested in the conversation settle back into their routine, too. Merlin laughs quietly to himself, and picks up the phone to dial Arthur’s extension.

“Yes, Merlin?” Arthur answers, sounding a little hesitant.

Merlin sighs, but he’s still smiling. “All right.”

He can almost see Arthur perking up from behind the tinted door of his office. “Really?”

“Sure. Show me what you’ve got, Casanova.”

“Oh, I will. It’s worth a shot.”

“Yeah?” It’s nice, not-flirting with Arthur over the phone. It really is.

“ _You’re_ worth a shot. Happy now?”

“Rather.” Merlin chuckles, twirling the wire around his finger. “See you.”

He hangs up to the sound of Arthur’s delighted laughter.

Merlin holds his coffee cup up, closing one eye to better read the small words:

_My office instead of your desk at our usual time tonight?_

He doesn’t know what Arthur’s got planned, but he’s quite looking forward to it. His colleagues are shifting papers and typing away again, a tame little tumult of office sounds and hushed voices that push him to get going with his afternoon workload in earnest. 

As the hours go on and the sunlight eventually starts shining into Merlin’s eyes at that annoying angle that means it’s nearly six, Arthur walks briskly past Merlin with a huge cardboard box in hand.

“Where are you going?” Merlin asks suspiciously, wondering if Arthur’s forgotten about his strange request.

“Oh, I’ll be back, just making a delivery,” Arthur says vaguely, waving dismissively, continuing to walk past the other cubicles and making a telling turn towards the pantry on the left.

Shaking his head, Merlin leans back in his chair, arms behind his head as he surveys the office. His colleagues had started trickling out at a little past five, because the majority of them had cleared quite a backlog of work on Friday to properly enjoy their weekend at the company dinner. 

Gwen finally finishes packing her things, and slings her dark purple Longchamp over one arm as she walks over to his cubicle. She winks at him, once, before bending to kiss him on the cheek. “Don’t know what you boys have got planned for tonight or whenever, but you tell him to bring you back by midnight, okay? And no hanky-panky on your first date!”

“Yes, mum. A bit too late for that, mum. Stop peeking into my kinky sexual affairs, mum.” Merlin pecks her cheek and gives her a one-armed hug. 

“I won’t have that kind of behaviour from you nor your young man!” She waggles a finger and sticks her tongue out at him. “That being said, I fully expect you to tell me everything tomorrow. Have a good night with your Prat Charming.” Laughing, Gwen turns around, her heels clicking away on the floor into silence as she leaves the office.

There’s a _ding_ sound from somewhere that sounds like the microwave and a muffled “Ow!” from down the corridor. Merlin listens for anything else, but there’s just silence, so he shrugs and gets back to work.

Arthur stomps back into the office, an indignant expression on his face as he utters a soft string of curses under his breath, still carrying the large cardboard box.

“What happened in the pantry?” Merlin asks, a little concerned, because Arthur looks flustered and tetchy.

“I didn’t go to the pantry,” Arthur denies immediately, and walks very woodenly to his office. “Uh. Yeah, wonky delivery. Just a little. I’ll see you in ten.”

“All right, Arthur.” Merlin smiles, despite himself, and starts putting his own work away. If Arthur has plans, then they probably won’t actually be doing overtime tonight.

He shuts down his computer after a bit, feeling both slightly nervous and in need of another dreaded champagne flute to calm said nerves. Seeing his profile, he adjusts his collar in the reflection of his black computer screen and smooths down his hair some. It’s not much of an attempt, but it’ll have to do.

His watch reads a minute to six, so Merlin comes to a halt at Arthur’s door, knocking it gently. Usually he’d just barge in, but things have been a little different since this afternoon. Well, since Saturday night. “Arthur. May I come in?”

“Just a minute!” There’s a sound of some shuffling around and things being shifted, and more curses. “Aaa _aagh_ , yes, okay, come in.”

When he opens the door, Merlin braces himself for the glare of the sun before it shifts fully into twilight, but he’s pleasantly surprised when he doesn’t get blinded immediately when he steps in. He’s nearly forgotten it’s almost October.

“So what was so special that you needed me to—” Merlin stops short when he sees Arthur’s desk. Arthur himself comes from the side of the office, wiping his hand on a napkin, before leaning back against the table, somehow managing to look attractive while disheveled.

“I asked Guinevere before,” Arthur says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “About what your favourite food was. She might’ve given me a bit of hell about it, but she said it was arrabbiata.”

“Gwen does that,” Merlin says, a little in awe as he steps forward, taking in the entire table set with a blood-red cloth, with two plates on either end where the chairs are and two bowls in the middle: one with penne in, and the other with a chunky sauce that has the tell-tale spicy, tomato-laced fragrance of a well-cooked arrabbiata and a sprinkling of herbs. His mouth waters. “Did you make all this?”

“Shockingly,” Arthur begins, brandishing a small ladle, “Yes! It took me some planning yesterday at my flat because I’d never made sauce from scratch, but I didn’t fare too badly. If nothing else, it’s at least edible.”

Merlin has a mental image of Arthur bending over a pot on his stove in an apron with the company’s dragon logo emblazoned on it, leaning in to taste his sauce as it cooks. It’s hilarious, but kind of cute all the same. Now he wants Arthur to cook at his place so he can pinch Arthur’s arse when he’s cooking. The thought makes him smile, and he looks at Arthur, whose expression seems to be something between hopeful, a little insecure and obstinate all at the same time.

He sits down at his usual chair opposite of Arthur’s at the table, resting his elbows against it and folding his arms, tilting his head for Arthur to sit, too. “You’re something else, Arthur Pendragon.”

“I know that, now tell me if my pasta’s something else, too!” Arthur leans over and spoons some pasta onto Merlin’s plate first before he sits down, himself. “I don’t know how much sauce you take, so, uh, have my ladle.” 

“Very well, sir, aren’t you quite the gentleman.” Merlin helps himself to a generous serve of sauce, lets the red trickle all over his penne the way he likes it while Arthur fidgets. “Arthur, seriously, relax, it’s a nice gesture. You can’t go wrong with pasta.”

“I can’t help it,” Arthur says, embarrassed. “I didn’t actually plan for this way in advance, it just came to me Sunday afternoon when I... thought I should do something different, instead of just eating out.”

Merlin takes a bite, making a humming noise of approval. “It’s actually really good, Arthur, what are you talking about? And yes, I appreciate it.”

Arthur kicks him from under the table, but not as vehemently as he might’ve when they’d first started locking horns with each other in the office all those months ago. “So is my pasta something else?” He raises his eyebrows meaningfully.

“Your pasta is something else, Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin parrots, deadpan, and then they’re both laughing as Arthur takes out a bottle of wine. “Wow, you came prepared, didn’t you?”

“I did. Some red wine, monsieur?”

“Can’t say no to Shiraz.” He pushes his wine glass forward, marveling and freaking out a little at the detail that Arthur’s put to this. Merlin also won’t admit it, but he’s really, really flattered. “Arthur, were you that certain I was going to say yes?”

“Honestly? No,” Arthur confesses, taking a sip of his own wine. The sky’s darkening even as they speak, and the warm red-gold light washes over Arthur. He looks even more handsome from this angle. “I wasn’t sure how to ask you today about it, so I thought I’d get you coffee and... well, I asked the barista if I could write something at the bottom, first.”

“Arthur, no one would really check the bottom of their coffee cup after.” Merlin takes up his glass and clinks it against Arthur’s. “Cheers. And your writing was even tinier than usual, to boot!”

Looking genuinely befuddled, Arthur pokes at his pasta with his fork. “I thought it was a good idea at the time,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Terrible idea,” Merlin says, but then he gets up and walks around the table to Arthur’s chair. “But it’s sweet.” He leans against the back of Arthur’s large swivel chair, and just smirks at him when Arthur turns around to look at Merlin. “You’re a brilliant man, but sometimes I wonder about your mind. This is why you need a personal assistant. Is there a vacancy?”

“Are you interested in a position _under_ me, young Mr. Emerson?” Arthur tugs at Merlin’s tie, nose brushing his cheek. “You do have a very impressive resumé, but do you consider yourself a hands-on person? We’re very keen on, ah, that sort in our company.”

Merlin shifts back to look at Arthur dubiously. “Is that from an office porno somewhere?”

Arthur coughs. “I don't know what you're talking about. It's certainly not from Desk Dicktations, if that's what you're asking.”

“And you judge me, you twat.” He tilts Arthur’s chin up, sweeping his thumb across the hint of stubble. “Do you have any plans tonight, after dinner?”

Arthur smiles up at him, snaking an arm up around Merlin’s shoulder and pulling him down. “Not anymore.”

“Good,” Merlin says gravely, and leans in to finally, finally kiss him. It feels like a beginning. “I’d hate for anyone to interrupt our private interview.”

Arthur grins against Merlin’s mouth, and Merlin’s missed this, the burning taste of a kiss he shares with someone he’s falling for. And he is falling, no doubt, if he hasn’t already. Merlin’d like to see anyone resist the combination of Arthur’s toothy smile, pristine suits and quicksilver wit. “Yours or mine, Merlin?” 

Merlin smirks. “Does yours have an apron?”

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> Posting this up to de-anon first in case my Internet dies on me, and I'll be fixing little errors and things as I go along! Thank you very much to everyone's who's supported me through this monster that just seemed to grow and grow over the weeks, and I really appreciate your patience through what must've been some truly epic sextual frustration. You guys are awesome. ♥


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